Tuesday, 19 November 2013

Wheeeeeeeeeeee..........CRASH (exploding bomb sound effect)

Edit:  This has now been resolved.  My psychologist has sorted this out for me.  I still stand by writing this post, I was NOT being over dramatic - a form of treatment that has been helping me cope was threatened with being taken away.  In these times where mental health issues are more accepted into society, funding and services for mental health patients are being slashed.  It's disgraceful.

To Whom It May Concern:

Following a particularly difficult and emotional psychology session today, you felt the need to drop a bomb on me.  I shouldn’t be having psychology sessions any more, I should have been thrown out to my GP surgery (who really only deal with IAPTS and we all know how helpful THEY are).  You told me that I was only supposed to have been supported by you for six sessions… Many apologies for my being more nuts than I first thought.  Six sessions had only just started to establish a relationship between myself and my psychologist… each of my sessions delves deep into the part of me that hates me, the part that undermines me, the part that gives me suicidal ideas – the part of me that gave me suicidal ideas at the start of this month.  I’ve been dealing with her for about 30 or so years so six hour and a half sessions didn’t even TOUCH that…

So I sat there today, as you told me, advising me you understand what I’m going through because you’ve been through it before – bullshit.  You have been through your experience, and I am going through mine.  I sat and tried to not cry, and succeeded until I left you, then sloped off to the toilets and let it out.

Mental illness can’t be cured instantly.  It’s a constant work in progress – at the start of the six sessions, I thought I’d be fixed – how wrong I was.  I’m more damaged than I first thought, and now to think I might not be able to work with my therapist again seems unbearable at this moment in time.  I don’t value myself, although I am learning to thanks to him…if his help is withdrawn, I could deteriorate – I have issues with feelings of rejection, I know it won’t be his fault but I will feel rejected if our sessions stop right now. 

It seems that someone, somewhere should’ve informed me that it was only six sessions and then adios whether you’re fixed or not, but they did not.  And now the time and the cost of my mental health is being called into question.  I can’t help being damaged, but I know someone who can help me get fixed.

Yours hopelessly,

Mini T

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

Hooray for SCIENCE!

Yesterday I suspended the experiment that I had unwittingly begun the previous week…I remembered to take my antidepressants.

I had genuinely forgotten to take them when I had gone to Amsterdam (as there had only been two left in the box and I hadn’t taken those with me, I’d also forgotten to get my repeat prescription before I went away).  I’ll be FINE, I thought…how wrong I was.

Turns out, I do actually still really quite need my antidepressants.  I found this out yesterday whilst queuing in Boots at Central Six, in tears because a woman in the queue behind me had a child and I do not.  I also found it out whilst on a huge self hatred trip whilst David was clothes shopping.  But mostly I discovered that I still need my antidepressants when lying in the bath on my front, staring at my wrists for about twenty or so minutes, the thoughts going around my head to the tune of ‘well, if you cut, let yourself bleed out into the bath, then you’ll fall unconscious and then drown’. 

After such a fantastic week or so including:
* Going to Amsterdam with Terry and James
* David and my wedding anniversary
* Hallowe’en (best of ALL the days) where we went to watch Nosferatu on the big screen with live creepy organ music accompaniment
* A visit from our friends Liam and Vicky for the weekend which included drinking and rocking out in full Hallowe’en fancy dress.

I was terrified that I could slump down quite so far, so badly or so quickly.  And I didn’t know why I was thinking this, could’ve been post Fab Times™ slump, a combination of tiredness and lack of antidepressants or what… I really don’t know.  But I was so scared I could think those thoughts again.  I suppose it’s a step down from actually holding a knife to my wrist like I did that first day, but the fact I analysed it for about twenty or so minutes is worrying too.

Had a session with my psychologist today and explained it all to him.  He came back with ‘So why didn’t you do it, then?’  A fair question to which I thought long and hard about the answer before admitting that I know David, my family and friends would miss me.  But even admitting that seems egotistical to me.

The results of my unintentional experiment are thus:  I’m still having major problems and need the medication still - who knows how long for, but for now they're as vital to my well being as tea, hugs, cats and love.

PS.  I’m well aware that my blog posts are not cheery reading and for that I apologise, but writing really helps me out.

PPS:  Will try to blog something cheerier soon.  Promise.  Thank you all so much for reading.